


A Forgotten Family

by Nicxan



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Gen, I think this is the first time I've written ANYTHING from the Narrator's POV, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 14:36:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20137072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: People-watching at a cafe is relaxing, but there's a group that brings up a question for Stanley.Specifically about his life before the Parable.





	A Forgotten Family

**Author's Note:**

> Writer's Month! Day six! Prompt was 'kids'!

Getting coffee was the absolute best idea Stanley had ever had. While he was still learning the ways of the ‘real world’, he had figured out that sunshine was the ideal weather to go outside in, and just a bit after lunch was the perfect time to go to the coffee shop. Stanley clearly knew what he was doing here.  
  
They had sat a while ago, enjoying each other’s company in almost total silence. The idle chatter in the background was perfect filler noise, and the both of them were content. Stanley smiled at the Narrator, then looked outside of the window beside them.  
  
The Narrator sipped at his drink and followed suit, observing all the people passing by absorbed in their own lives. One woman was trying to get her dog under control and to keep moving, while the dog just wanted to sniff at the ground. Another man was talking on his phone, clutching his suitcase a bit too tightly to be comfortable.  
  
People really were fascinating in how different they all were, the Narrator mused. One woman with children was desperately trying to ignore their antics as she walked on, looking incredibly exhausted and drained. Yet, the woman sitting at the patio engaged with her children happily, laughing, beaming with joy. And to think he used to try to paint them all with the same – or a similar – brush.  
  
He felt a tap on his hand, and the Narrator looked back over towards a suddenly very solemn Stanley. Stanley pulled his hand back, then began to sign much slower than usual.  
  
‘_Narrator?_’  
  
“What is it, Stanley?” The Narrator set his mug down, regarding his companion with concern. Stanley’s eyes … well, they just looked sad. His shoulders had drooped. The Narrator pressed him, his own worry showing through clearly. “Is something the matter? Is it the coffee? Do I need to go back up there and –”  
  
Stanley placed his hand on the Narrator’s, squeezing it gently before pulling it back and shaking his head.  
  
“Oh. Well then. What’s the matter?”  
  
‘_I was just wondering ..._’ Stanley held his hands in the air for a moment, motionless – almost. Were his hands shaking? ‘_I know I had a wife. You’ve told me about her. But did I have a kid? The apartment felt wrong, so … possibly ..._’  
  
The Narrator didn’t know how to respond. He sat quietly, eyes flickering towards the wooden table. He wrung his hands for a moment. How would he even start with this? How would he even begin to explain how he didn’t know anything about his wife beyond corrupted memory banks in the Parable, never mind if he had a child?  
  
Well, perhaps that would be the best place to start, now that he thought about it. The Narrator took a deep breath.  
  
“I … well ...” he began quietly. Stanley leaned forward. “I’ll be blunt, Stanley, though I know you won’t like it. I was lucky to know about your wife. That was a result of the system giving me information before it became corrupted. However, I never saw anything in your memory banks about a child.” The Narrator sighed. “But that may not mean anything. I don’t know. I can’t tell anymore. Perhaps it was a glitch, perhaps you didn’t have one. We’ll never _really_ know.”  
  
‘_Oh._’ The lack of energy behind Stanley’s signing made the Narrator’s heart sink. ‘_Thank you, Narrator. I’m sorry to bring it up. It’s just that I saw those kids outside, and something hit me. I don’t know what._’  
  
“It’s perfectly all right, Stanley. The Parable has taken quite a bit from both of us, and I daresay you’re allowed to be melancholy about it when you think about everything that’s been lost.” The Narrator took another sip of his coffee, more than happy to be able to be back in his element. “And I’m sure that if you were a father, you were a truly excellent one.”  
  
Stanley’s gaze softened, and the smile on his face reminded Narrator of the sunshine.  
  
‘_Thank you so much. I hope so. I wouldn’t want to be a bad dad._’  
  
“The only thing _you’re_ terrible at is following directions. Quite frankly, you and a child would get along splendidly,” the Narrator said with a smirk. Stanley laughed silently, then resumed staring out the window. The Narrator followed his lead, his eyes immediately fixating on the joyous woman hugging her son.  
  
He wished he could have given Stanley an answer either way, but he had done all he could do. And Stanley was clearly all right with that. Now, he just had to be all right with it too.

**Author's Note:**

> These are one of the ones I might revisit once Writer's Month is over. The crunch time for these means I can't go too in-depth. But I really want to here. Whoops!


End file.
